


Stonedhenge (aka: My Title Is a Really Bad Pun)

by ratherastory



Category: Stonehenge Apocalypse (2010), Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crack Pairing, Crossover, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt by the lovely and talented and obviously really twisted hereare_mysins at twoskeletons' <b>Stonehenge Apocalypse/SPN</b> commment-fic meme: CASTIEL/JIMMY/JACOB/FUTURE!CAS(/MISHA). Make it happen. Somehow. O_O *ded*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stonedhenge (aka: My Title Is a Really Bad Pun)

**Author's Note:**

> Neurotic Author's Note: This is crack. Not even fluffy pseudo-crack the way I've done a few times. No no. CRACK. Then it turned into SLASHY crack. I can't begin to explain this. It's best left alone.  
> Neurotic Author's Note #2: Written off-the-cuff, no beta, no revision, nothing. Just unrevised crack. ~~Pirates~~ Fangirls, ye be warned!

“No, trust me, you'll like it,” Cas says, pinching the joint between a thumb and forefinger, and taking a quick hit before handing it over to Castiel, who furrows his brow at him. “C'mon, of all people, I would know, wouldn't I? I mean, I'm you, only from later, right?”

“I am not sure,” Castiel replies, as though it should come as a surprise to any of them that he's doubtful of the proceedings. “I cannot conceive of any circumstances under which I would allow myself to... behave thus.” He takes the joint, mimicking Cas' gesture, and holds it, staring at it as though it might just turn into a snake and bite him at any second.

“Lighten up,” Misha breaks in from where he's lying propped up against a massive tree trunk. “Seriously, I think you'll feel way better once that giant stick is removed from your ass. How do you even sit?”

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “You are mistaken, I believe I would be aware if I had a stick inserted into my rec—”

“Is he always like this?” Jacob is sprawled on the grass, loose-limbed and grinning happily, head in Jimmy's lap. Jimmy is intensely uncomfortable, legs crossed Indian-style.

“Pretty much,” he says. “But I agree with Castiel: I don't think it's a good idea for him to do drugs.”

“Aw, afraid we're going to corrupt your angel, little brother?” Jacob teases.

“Screw you, Jacob,” Jimmy replies, flicking Jacob's forehead and looking smug at the ensuing outraged yelp. “He's an angel of the Lord. It's... unseemly.”

“Perhaps I shouldn't...” Castiel tries to hand back the joint, but Cas reaches over and clasps his wrist firmly, shoving his hand back emphatically toward his face.

“C'mon Castiel, live a little. Nothing wrong with a little bit of corruption. Just remember, breathe deep and hold it as long as you can... uh, wait. In your case, you can exhale after a minute or so. Don't hold your breath indefinitely.”

Misha snorts. “Aww, Cas! You ruined it. I was totally looking forward to seeing how long he'd do it.”

Fifteen minutes later Castiel has shucked his trench coat and has one arm draped over Cas' shoulder. “I keep trying to explain this to Dean, but he doesn't want to listen.”

“Dean Dean Dean. Marcia Marcia Marcia,” Misha says, rolling his eyes and pitching his voice just shy of falsetto. “Dean's not here, and thank God. Although Jacob over there is doing a pretty creditable imitation. Where'd you get that pendant, anyway?”

Jacob glares, but the look is unfocussed and sort of loses its impact early on. “It was a gift. And hey, I'm an original, all right? Is anyone else hungry? I could totally go for a pizza now. Or maybe some brownies...”

Jimmy flicks his forehead again. “You are baked enough as it is.”

“Seems to me that isn't the problem. The problem, little brother, is that you are way too sober,” Jacob points out.

Misha scrunches his face. “Waitaminute. If you two are brothers, then how come you don't have the same last name?”

“It's a long story,” Jacob replies, at the same time as Jimmy says: “Jacob disowned his family after we couldn't scientifically prove the existence of God.”

“Harsh.”

Jacob takes another hit off the rapidly-diminishing joint, and squirms a bit in Jimmy's lap. Jimmy manages to look even more uncomfortable. “Hey, I just wanted to go and study physics. Dad's the one who told me I should stay gone.”

“Yeah, and somehow that somehow meant you should leave me without so much as a phone call for all these years?”

“You took his side. Besides, you could have called too, you know,” Jacob's face is flushed with annoyance, eyes bright.

“If I had, would you have picked up?” Jimmy returns, expression mirroring Jacob's.

There's an awkward silence as Jimmy glares down at Jacob and Jacob glares right back up at him, though he doesn't move away from his brother's lap. Cas blinks, then looks at Castiel. “Woah. Déjà vu like crazy, man. It's like an alternate universe crossover or something.”

“I don't understand that reference.”

“Never mind,” Misha butts in. “Less talking, more toking. You guys are giving me a headache. Jimmy, dude, are you seriously going to be a square about this? You're seriously harshing everyone's buzz, here. Hang on... if Castiel is possessing you, shouldn't you already be high?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I don't know. I mean, he's not possessing me now, is he? Besides, you're the actor. If you're high, then shouldn't we both, I mean, or all of us...”

“You're giving me a headache,” Jacob complains, and struggles to a sitting position, arms windmilling and legs flailing for balance, all the while keeping a death grip on the joint.

“Consider it payback for all the mocking I had to endure about aliens on the moon.”

“For the last time, it was a _robot head_!”

Jimmy snorts. “And they all said _I_ was crazy.”

“Misha's totally wrong: it's not Castiel who's got the stick up his ass, it's you,” Jacob holds the joint to his lips, rolling his eyes at Jimmy.

“Hey!”

Jimmy keeps glaring as Jacob finishes the joint, right up until Jacob grabs his chin firmly with one hand and tilts his head toward him, thumb scraping over the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. Jimmy squirms a bit, but doesn't try to pull away, and when Jacob's lips brush against his he opens his mouth reflexively, eyes widening in shock as Jacob exhales gently into his mouth.

After a moment Jacob pulls back, and rests his forehead against Jimmy's. “Tell me you didn't miss this...”

“That is way hotter than it has any right to be,” Misha says, lacing his fingers behind his head and settling contentedly against the tree to watch. “Did that bastard just finish the joint?”

“Seriously,” Cas agrees. “And yes, he did. Don't worry, there's plenty more.”

“I don't understand.”

“Castiel, don't make me explain shotgunning to you.”

“I think 'explain' is probably the wrong verb choice,” Misha remarks, staring up into the tree branches. “You ever notice how the sun, like, filters right through the leaves in trees when they're by themselves, but when they're in a forest there's a lot less light? It's like, being alone leaves room for the light to shine.”

“Wow,” Cas pauses in the process of pulling another joint out of a cigarette case. “I never thought of that. But we don't get much sun: it's sort of a post-apocalyptic thing: ash clouds and whatever. Nuclear winter. Shit like that.”

“Bummer.”

“Should we use rock salt?” Castiel asks, and Cas looks at him like he's lost his mind.

“What?”

“You mentioned a shotgun. Dean uses rock salt, as a rule.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Not shotgun, shotgunning. Oh, for the love of... come here.”

Castiel looks only slightly less surprised than Jimmy did, and Misha thinks that's probably because he wasn't glaring to begin with. A moment later he leans back, licks his lips, and tilts his head, considering.

“So?” Cas grins.

“It was... not unpleasant,” Castiel confirms. “Would you do it again?”

“Awesome,” Misha breathes. “I can't even bring myself to care that I'm the odd man out, here. Hand over the grass before it's all gone, would you, Cas? I don't think I want to watch the little family crisis happening over there without a little more pharmacological help.”

“Shut up,” Jacob says mildly, eyes locked with Jimmy's. Misha's reminded a little of the comments of 'eye-fucking' that his minions are constantly going on about. It's intense, whatever it is.

“I thought...” Jimmy manages, breathless, before Jacob silences him, brushing a thumb over his lips, then leaning in and kissing him. This time, Jimmy yields without a second thought, letting Jacob's tongue explore his mouth, pulling him closer, gripping his shirt so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

Castiel startles Misha by listing partly into his lap, pulling Cas along with him, since he still has an arm around his shoulders, practically holding him in a headlock. “Perhaps this not an opportune moment to confirm the veracity of the presence of the robot head on the moon?”

Misha almost chokes on his lungful of smoke, exhales through his nostrils. “You mean it really was a cover-up?”

Castiel nods, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “It was Uriel's idea.”

Cas giggles, then spreads out until he's practically lying on top of them both, staring up into the branches of the tree, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort of having their knees digging into his back. “Oh, man, I remember that! That was freaking _epic_.”

Castiel tries for a disapproving frown. “It isn't at all, uh, laudable to play tricks on humans. Certainly not of that nature.”

“Oh, come on! The way they scurried around trying to sweep it all under the rug? You totally found it funny. I mean, I found it funny, and I'm you.”

Misha finds out that Cas' giggles are totally contagious. “An angelic prank. That's rich.”

“In Uriel's defense, I believe he was trying to destroy the moon in an attempt to punish humanity. It simply... didn't work as intended.”

Misha snorts. “I wish I had my phone. My minions would love this. I wouldn't tell Jacob, though.”

“No?” Castiel tries to tilt his head, but Misha's shoulder is in the way. He decides he's very comfortable where he is. “Why not?”

Misha puts an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “Trust me, it's just better this way. Just sit back, and relax. It's not like we have anywhere else to be.”


End file.
